A game of screams
by MajorityRim
Summary: "Eye, fingernails, legs, shoulder, mind. That order Sebastian, I don't want you killing him with something so dull as blunt force trauma to the chest within the first ten seconds Make it slow make him scream for him Tiger "
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: There's a little note at the bottom for you all~_

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[_Chapter one_]

It was a well known fact that James Moriarty was a dangerous man. Violent, sadistic, merciless and unsympathetic. He took what he wanted, by whatever means he had to. Nobody crossed him without dying or if they were unlucky, beaten to within an inch of their lives then left to spread the word about what could happen to any others who where dumb enough to cross him. Of course, Jim never spilt any blood himself. He had his 'Tiger' to do that. A large, ex-military man who seldom smiled unless he was breaking somebody's neck, Sebastian Moran. Jim pointed his finger and Sebastian would obey. Jim regarded Sebastian as his deadliest weapon (or second to that of his intellect) and Sebastian treated Jim as if he were the monarch rather than a criminal. A deadly and efficient pairing, who together instilled a fear in those who knew of them that not even a certain hallucinogenic drug manufactured in a army base hidden away at Dartmoor could rival.

When somebody crossed the consultant criminal, Moran would collect them, tie them up and await further instruction. Sometimes, the word would arrive though text, a simple command; [Kill him. –JM] other times, the Jim himself would arrive to watch his pet at play. He'd sit meters from the bound victim, an ever present smile painted onto his face, those dark eyes locked onto theirs, slowly chewing at a fresh piece of gum with the upmost of content. The few that survived the onslaught would swear until the day that they died that when Jim entered the room; Sebastian became more predatory, his actions becoming much more purposeful and showy. It became not just a murder, but a full scale production, a game. It two man show and the various screams that escaped from whoever had been stupid enough to cross the Napoleon of crime where the score for the game. Each wail setting the mood, allowing Jim to know exactly what was going though the victims mind. What hurt them more, what they feared the most, it was almost like having cheat codes. Sebastian played the villain, Jim always adoring to watch the 'good guy' or at least the better of two evils, be slowly pulled apart, body cell by body cell, until nothing remained. Sebastian was more than willing to oblige, always sure to put on a show for his audience of one, right until the very last drop of blood had fallen and dried on the ground beneath them. Jim Moriarty's very own live action horror game. He controlled the pieces, and was blessed with an array of different tools so large, that he never had time to use them all on one victim. It was a game that never got boring no matter how many times Jim replayed it. There was always something new to do, a new way to kill somebody discovered. And of course with the most abiding of pieces to control, Jim knew he would never be let down.

"Break his arms first, from the fingers up~"

"Yes Boss."

"Strip him down, then drown him with gasoline~"

"Yes Boss."

"Make them scream Tiger~ I'm so bored of the gag~"

"Yes Boss."

Sebastian always followed Jim's orders to the letter. Careful, precise movements, not killing them an instant before the Irishman gave the command, inflicting the most pain that he could. Years of serving Jim had taught him a thing or two about the body. Not as much as Jim seemed to know, but more than enough to keep a man conscious and in excruciating pain. The knowledge was handy for both Sebastian and Jim. It meant that Jim didn't have to give as precise commands as he might if he were using another one of his employees to play the game. Because Sebastian had been involved so many times, he knew and understood the limitations of the human body, what it could take and what it couldn't. He'd been surprised that there were so many things that could be done to a man's body before they actually died. He'd always been taught the quick and easy way, but the slow and delicate way was so much more rewarding. It allowed for so many ways to gather information, or to get Jim's point across, and the feeling of power that both men received from that was intoxicating. That was there reward for playing such a game, the true feeling of satisfaction and for Sebastian, being able to quench his bloodlust for a while.

Occasionally though, when Jim became bored, he became a whole different type of violent, and the game changed.

It was out of frustration, not being able to entertain himself for longer than a few short minutes, not being able to find anything substantial to grasp his interest, that Jim Moriarty became truly violent. First, he'd take it out on anything within arm's reach, crockery, tables, chairs, anything that he could break, preferably into small unsalvageable pieces. Then he'd abuse anybody who crossed him. Clients who didn't interest him enough or employees. He had struck Sebastian on several occasions, something the sniper had gotten used to. An occupational hazard. The smaller of the two certainly knew how to throw a punch, he just loathed getting dirty. Blood on one of his suits irritated Jim almost as much as being bored.

If Jim still had not managed to find something to occupy him, he then took it one step further. He'd kidnap a random person, and have Sebastian kill them as slowly as possible. It was a thrill, the candid approach to everything. On a normal day, Jim would spend hours carefully planning a kidnapping, making sure everything was perfect. Checking and double checking all of his data to make sure there was no chance of being apprehended for abduction. When he was bored though, Jim was rash, taking the first person he could get his hands on. Knowing that he could get caught at anytime added to the excitement, it made it more fun for him. Man or Woman, no person over the age of seventeen, Sebastian not being as willing if they were any younger, and refused to participate in even abduction if they were under the age of seven, would do. It only took a matter of seconds to take somebody, and within minutes, Jim would have a new victim and a new game to play.

That day had been no exception to the rule.

Bored, and frustrated that Sherlock had shown no interest in his latest ploy, Jim had taken to staring out the apartment window, looking for his newest play thing. He wanted somebody who looked like they could take a beating, somebody who he could pull apart piece by piece, slowly and painfully for hours on end, and still be able to continue even after that. Much to his distaste, all he had seen so far were elderly women, gossiping about all sorts of dull things, and a few school children running home from their day's lessons at school. Nothing he could use. He contemplated taking a group of them and simply playing with them one after another as each one died, but the risks grew far too high when he kidnapped more than one victim at a time. That was only done when he had planned the abduction. The more people missing from their homes, the easier it was for the authorities to pinpoint a location and spoil Jim's fun. No, it had to be one victim who could withstand the wrath of a bored psychopath. At least for a few hours.

After half an hour of a despicable lack of game pieces, Jim was lucky enough to spot one. He had been about to give up, and simply send for a bomb technician to go and hide explosives under a cab when he spotted what he considered to be the perfect plaything. John Watson had been in the wrong place at the very wrong time. Instantly, Jim leapt back from the window, turning around with a clap of his hands, rubbing them together eagerly. He sent Sebastian down to collect John and picking up his suit jacket, bounded down the stairs after the sniper, a malicious smile creeping onto his face. Who better than to torture than the only thing Sherlock Holmes seemed to be interested in? That would be sure to spike the consulting detective's interest, and if not, John would still make a more than sufficient toy to play with. Even if at the end of the game, John managed to survive and Sherlock never showed up, Jim would still enjoy the day's events. There was nothing quite like hearing a fully grown man screaming in agony, begging for his life like a dribbling baby. It was empowering, intoxicating. The way the screams were amplified and echoed around the abandoned warehouses they were brought to, or the way they begged for their lives while tied to their very own kitchen tables, spluttering through the makeshift gags or trying to form words though ragged breaths in an attempt to try and ask for freedom they knew would never come. That was what Jim craved. Would John Watson be the same? Would he beg and cry and plea? Would he _break?_ Jim was keen to find out. He had never played with an army man before. He'd done all sorts of things to Sebastian, but nothing that would render his best employee useless, nothing too violent or psychologically damaging. John on the other hand was free game. Jim could do whatever he pleased to him.

[...]

It took Sebastian less than two minutes to subdue and load John into the car, nobody had been around to notice and any surveillance cameras that were above them had been taken care of long ago by Jim. Jim knew that even if nobody had been around to witness the abduction, nothing would have come from it in any case. They were all either too well bribed, or too scared to speak up against Jim Moriarty. People in the street were always 'moving away' never to be heard of again. Speaking up would only cause the current residents to join their ex-neighbours, their ashes hidden amongst that of dead farm animals.

Climbing into the car beside the unconscious John, Jim gave Sebastian a small nod, and without a word, the car pulled away from the curb and headed south, towards a small lot of abandoned warehouses, where Jim often played his games. After John, Jim noted, he would have to find a new recreational centre. He'd used the warehouses for a little more than a month, and it was time to move on. Staying in one area for too long was dangerous, and became too routine. There was a nice place to the west that provided ample cover that would work quite nicely. It was for sale too, so Jim didn't have to do anything overly strenuous to take it for his own. Killing the competition would be enough, even if he was the highest bidder. After all, there was nothing like a small mass murder to reiterate who was in charge on the streets of London.

"What are you planning on doing with him?" Sebastian glanced back at Jim though the rear view mirror, pulling the consultant from his thoughts.

"I've got all sorts of things lined up for our dear Doctor~" Jim smirked, patting the unconscious man on the head affectionately. "I'll have him howl until his master comes to collect him, and if Sherlock never shows up, you can cut of the mutts head and hide it in Sherlock's fridge with the rest of the heads~" He looked back up at the sniper who seemed more than pleased with the answer. A brutal, bloody beating, that would likely last hours. Just what both men needed, a real game. Violence without context was the best type of entertainment that could be provided. Everybody enjoyed a bit of bloodshed from time to time, but for Sebastian, the feeling of taking another man's life was almost erotic. Especially when he was able to show off his talent for taking another's life.

"Sounds like fun." He chuckled, pulling into the warehouse complex. "Let's hope I get to behead him."

"It would make for a good article in the paper~ I'm sure Sherlock would start paying attention then~" Jim nodded, climbing out of the car no sooner than it had come to a stop, taking the time to flatten down his suit jacket and trousers, making sure he looked immaculate as always. "Bring him inside and tie him to the chair~ we'll have him sitting for now, he can stand _after~ _he has had his legs broken~"

"Yes Boss."

[...]

It hadn't taken John long at all to regain consciousness. Jim gave a small grin of content upon seeing the hazy blue eyes open and the panicked expression that quickly filled them as the doctor realised his situation. The first move. John took instantly started to thrash about, letting out a curse, followed by another fouler one as he tried to rip his hands free of the ropes securely holding him down on the strong wooden chair. The chair itself was purposefully made so that no amount of elevated adrenalin flued attempts to escape would remove the arms from the chair. Rather, it was carved out so that there were as little joins as possible. It had also been bolted to the ground, preventing it from moving or toppling backwards. While it was always amusing to see people fall backwards on the chair and scramble about like a daft tortoise on its back, it was impractical for the games activities and grew repetitive if the victims continually tried to make some sort of escape after falling a first time. John's eyes flicked between the assortment of course ropes holding his arms to the arms of the chair, feeling his legs bound in a similar way, and then up to survey his surrounds. As he spotted Jim, his struggling intensified, looking around for means of escape only to spot Sebastian, some distance away leaning on a pillar. It was evident that he wasn't getting out any time soon. Jim could see John trying to work out a means of escape, surveying the ropes for any signs of weakness, or the chance that they might have been loosening with his struggles. No chance of that of course, Jim knew how good Sebastian was at tying knots. John wouldn't get free with anything less than removing his hands from his forearms, which of course was impossible to do in his position. Instead, John was completely at Jims mercy, which was something the consultant had no intention of showing.

"You've woken up~" Jim beamed like a small child, clapping his hands together, rubbing them with a sick eagerness for the second time that day. "Good~ I was beginning to think that perhaps Mr. Moran had hit you a little too hard and I'd be here all day waiting for you to join us~"

"What the _hell_ are you playing at Moriarty!?" John growled back, still trying to remove his arms from the sides of the chair. "What are you planning this time?!"

"Just a little game~" Jim smiled. Sebastian chuckled lightly, content to lean on the pillar while Jim tormented John, cigarette lazily hanging in his mouth and hands buried deep within his jacket pockets as he waited for his first command. The laugh only made Jims smile widen. "The rules are quite simple really~ Moran plays with you, you scream, I'm entertained and at the end of the game, you die~" he spoke as if he were explaining the rules for a game of football to a group of children. "The louder you scream, the more I'm entertained~ if you don't scream, and I get bored, I'll find other ways to get a reaction from you. There are many methods of torture, but I'm sure a veteran solider like you knew that already~"

"You're doing this because you are bored? You're insane!"

"I am aware of that~" Another chuckle from Sebastian. Jim noted that he seemed to be enjoying the banter. Normally, he was silent until he was given the opportunity to start his work. Seemed as if the sniper had something against John, or by extension, something against Sherlock that he wanted to take out on John. Green was a colour that suited the burly man quite well. "It might come in handy if I ever fancy having myself caught for my crimes~ the insanity plea tends to cut jail sentences down by a considerable amount." John paled slightly, before giving one more futile attempt to rip himself free.

"So what? You're going to have your bloody lackey hit me until I scream?" John shook his head, finally stopping his attempts to break free, choosing to preserve his strength. Jim gave him a small nod, an acknowledgment that John had chosen well to not waste any more energy thrashing about. The doctor was smarter than Sherlock gave him credit for.

"Not just hit, but that's a good way to look at it~" Jim stood up, walking over to John, bending down slightly so that he could lean in close enough so that his nose and Johns almost touched, a wicked smirk telling John just how much danger he was in. "I'm bored. And the only reason I am bored is because Sherlock isn't paying me any attention~ Do you know what I do when I'm bored John? I do this. I take people off the street and I play games with them until they die~" Jim kept his gaze locked onto Johns the whole time, his brown eyes meeting John's blue ones with a fierce and angry expression. "I cut them up; I pull out their insides and hang them from the rafters just because I can. Because you can do that while a person is still alive, providing you do it right, and the look on their faces is more than enough entertainment for me." He pulled back, brushing down his suit and stepping back.

"Sherlock always ignores my messages~ he never responds, he's so dull now~ but you!" Jim spun on his heels, walking back to the chair he had positioned for himself. "He'll drop everything to run to be by his little Johnny's side~ How do you get him to react so quickly~?" sitting down, Jim crossed his left leg over his right, folding his hands neatly in his lap. Tilting his head slightly to the side, Jim's eyes narrowed slightly, as he thought over several possible answers to his question before continuing.

"You've slept with him no doubt," Jim nodded to his self and then to Sebastian who instantly walked from his place leaning on the pillar, to Johns side. "I wonder if that's all I have to do to get his attention~ let him take me to bed like I'm some sort of cheap whore~" There was a grunt from Sebastian, as he turned from John to face Jim.

"Are we going to start this? Or are you just gonna talk him to death Boss?" He really was more eager than Jim to start the assault. John felt his heart begin to race. He had been hoping that Jim would get so ravelled up in his questioning, and theatrical nonsense that it would stay at just that, harmless, terrifying banter. Jim himself seemed surprised by the question; as if he had forgotten about what he had been doing. He hadn't of course, the fact that Sebastian had spoken up, when normally he waited for orders had caught him off guard. Jim was supposed to be able to trust that Sebastian would never step a foot out of line, he didn't appreciate the sudden act of disobedience. If Sebastian continued to speak when not addressed, John wasn't the only one who would be suffering a painful couple of hours. Sebastian wouldn't have anything broken of course, or at least nothing that he needed in order to work, but he'd still certainly learn for his defiance.

"I've had peoples tongues cut out for interrupting me Moran, I'd hate for you to lose yours." Jim replied coldly, not bothering to look over to Sebastian, instead keeping his eyes fixed firmly on Johns. Sebastian shrugged in reply, but didn't speak any further. Instead, he took to drumming the fingers of his right hand on the side of his leg impatiently waiting for permission to start. The nod had simply been the command to come over and prepare. On occasions, a nod was the signal to begin but Sebastian knew that Jim wanted to drag out the suspense for as long as possible, that he wanted to watch Johns mind think of all the possibilities of what might happen to him. Much like Sebastian was capable of waiting days for the perfect shot though his sniper scope, Jim could sit and watch one of his 'toys' squirm about for hours, barely moving at all. Sebastian sincerely hoped that his speaking up wasn't going to make Jim drag it out too much further, he wanted to begin. He was already riding his rush for all it was worth, and didn't want to lose it half way though breaking a bone or puncturing a vital organ.

John was more than happy to drag out the start time of the whole ordeal. He was hoping that by some miracle he'd get out unscathed, that Jim would receive a better offer and leave him be. It was highly unlikely, and the way that the consultant was staring right though him was more than enough proof that John wasn't going to leave unscathed, but he could still hope, even prey for a stroke of good luck. After all, Jim himself had told John and Sherlock once that he was, as Jim had put it, 'so changeable'. Though the prospect of what might change Jims mind was somewhat unethical, John couldn't but hold onto a small amount of hope that the consultant really would get a better offer and leave him be. He hoped even more that in the case that Jim was called away, he would take Moran with him. Though Jim seemed to want to be around to watch John being beaten to an inch of his life, and possibly even to the point where he actually died, John wouldn't put it past Jim to still have his lackey to the dirty work while he took care of other business. John shuddered at the thought, closing his eyes and trying to remain calm. He could handle this, he'd been in the hands of Moriarty before, he could make it though the whole ordeal again. Opening his eyes, John glared back at Jim who was obviously enjoying the whole show, still not giving away anything that he might have had planned. John wasn't going to give him what he wanted. He wasn't going to break, especially before anything actually happened to him. There was always the possibility that Jim wouldn't bring John any physical harm, though it seemed slim. Sherlock had once expressed that Jim seemed to enjoy emotional abuse as much as he did physical. The consultant may have simply wanted to pull Johns mind apart and leave him psychologically traumatised. John could handle that, he'd dealt with that before. He just wished that Jim would speak and get it all over and done with. Jim had no intention of starting anything yet though. For the time being, John and Sebastian would just have to wait in silence while Jim played his own mind games with the pair of them, feeding himself on the absolute control he held over both of them. He never lost at his game, and had no intention of starting now.

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_Five Chapters. Hopefully one a day. Merry Christmas to you all~_


	2. Chapter 2

[_Chapter two_]

Forty seven minutes passed in silence. The only noise came from the buzz of distant passing traffic.

"You'll be arrested for this. Sherlock won't stop until he has caught you." John said finally, unable to stand the silence any longer. His eyes darted between Jim and Sebastian, trying to work out which one was the greater threat. So long as Jim wasn't talking, Sebastian was of no concern, but once Jim gave the command, John was sure that that would change dramatically. Where Jim had a dangerous intellect, Sebastian looked like he had a dangerous right hook. "He'll find you, you know he can." There was a hint in the desperation in John's voice as it faltered slightly. He stopped himself from speaking any further in case he allowed any more of the fear escape from his mouth. The other two men seemed to enjoy watching John frighten himself, the clear need for Sherlock to come charging in and save him before anything happened present in his eyes. A damsel in distress waiting for her Prince. The mental image caused Jim to snigger.

"And where is the great Sherlock Holmes now~?" he asked, looking around him as if the man were in the warehouse somewhere. "I'd love to talk to him~ he could join our little game~"

"He's away on the case if you were planning on trying to lure him out." John replied, his mood lifting slightly. "Looks like your plan has failed Moriarty. He's not even in the country." With any luck not being able to grasp Sherlock's attention would mean that Jim would lose interest in his so called game and leave john alone in the warehouse.

"Not in the country~?" Jims smile only widened. "Well in that case~" He turned his attention to Sebastian finally, Sebastian's hand instantly stopping the drumming motion as he adjusted his posture, standing to attention subconsciously. A solider waiting for his orders from his superior.

It was the part Jim loved. The way that Sebastian waited so intently for his orders. It was, Jim mused, Moran's only weakness. He craved violence. He was addicted to it. Everything he did, every kill that wasn't from behind that sniper rifle of his, was a bloody and violent one, and Jim was the one that allowed him to do so. Sebastian wasn't able to lift a finger against anybody until Jim gave the ok. Knowing how much that his pet wanted to start pulling John Watson apart, made Jim consider denying him the privilege altogether. That would be just as entertaining, having to watch his Tiger walk away from the prey so close to the kill. But no, Jim wanted this as much as Sebastian did**.** He needed to teach Sherlock that it wasn't ok to ignore him.

"Eye, fingernails, legs, shoulder, mind. That order Sebastian, I don't want you killing him with something so dull as blunt force trauma to the chest within the first ten seconds~ Make it slow~ make him scream for me Tiger~" Sebastian nodded, and taking the lit cigarette from his mouth, turned his back to Jim, making sure that he still left John in full view of the Irishman so that he could watch the show. John could do nothing but watch, the command washing over him as he shook his head. A flurry of ideas of what could happen to him rushing at him all at once.

"Christ no..." John had expected a black eye, but he soon realised that it was going to be something far more painful than that. He felt almost stupid for expecting something as simple as a black eye. He was dealing with Jim Moriarty after all; a black eye would have been far to 'ordinary' for him**. **Holding the cigarette in his right hand, Sebastian used his left to brace Johns head, pushing it back for an optimum angle, and using his thumb and index finger to hold Johns left eyelid open. A clean shot into the eye. John didn't know if struggling or staying still was a better option. If he struggled, there was the chance that Sebastian would drop the cigarette, lose it, and have to think of another method. But, it could also result in even more pain, the cigarette not just burning into just his eye, but around it too as John tried to move away from the offending object. John was given no time to react and choose an option though, Sebastian moved in one slow and precise action, slowly inching the burning object towards Johns eye. The sight of it paralysed John, leaving him unable to create a coherent thought and make a decision about moving or not**. **The sick realisation of just how much danger he was in finally setting in. This wasn't some scare tactic that Jim had dreamt up, he really was hell bent on causing John as much pain as possible, just because he was bored. Staring at the cigarette, John took a deep breath, bracing himself for the pain as much as he possibly could. Trying as hard as possible to ignore what was going to happen, or at least find something to distract himself from what was about to happen, John took deep purposeful breaths. Whenever he had given a patient an injection he had always encouraged them to think on other things, anything but the syringe itself. Concentrating on the offending object only made it hurt more, by finding a distraction however, the pain wouldn't go away, but was less noticeable. The cigarette was not an injection however, and there was _nothing_ for John to distract himself with.

As the lit smoke hit John's eye, the paper and tobacco trying to force its way through the eyes cornea, the response was instant**. **A reflex that John couldn't have controlled. As soon as the cigarette had made its way into his eye, he jerked sideways, howling out in pain as he tried to escape it. While Moran had a firm grip on Johns head, it wasn't enough to prevent John from breaking free momentarily, dragging the cigarette though his eye and pushing it in deeper, burning the lens and extinguishing itself. It was evident that Jim was already enjoying the game. The expression of sheer delight that was on his face coupled with the childish gargles that were escaping his mouth proved that. It made the whole thing seem almost make believe, the way the consultant reacted, as if he were watching a stage production rather than somebody actually being tortured. Moran pulled the cigarette away, throwing it to the side before diving his hand into his pocket, letting go of John while he searched for his pocket knife. John thrashed around, holding back further screams through choked sobs, murmuring desperately under his breath for somebody to help. _Keep it together John, Jim wants to get a response out of you, that's all he wants. _ He could feel the hot tobacco segments lingering on his eye, still trying to burn though the lens, and through a thick coating of tears, he realised he couldn't see a thing from his left eye.With a small smile, Sebastian pulled his knife from his jacket.

"Blinding him isn't enough~? You're going all out this time~" Jim jested. "You must _really_ have something against poor John here~"

"Isn't blinding him a little dull Boss?" Sebastian's reply was blunt and to the point. John groaned, fresh tears continually streaming down his face as the pain surged through his skull in waves. It was far more painful than even the bullet wound had been in his shoulder.. He could feel his eye as it spasmed in his skull, trying to clear remanets of the cigarettes tobacco and its ash from itself, trying to stop those embers from burning though any further, the tears doing very little to relieve the heat from the offending object. The ashes may not have even been burning him anymore; rather it was more the case of the sensation that stayed to torment him. John was sure he could feel every single part of his eye in its socket and was even more certain that they were all trying to force their way out, throbbing and darting about uncontrollably.

Flicking the knife out, Sebastian once again held Johns head in place, more firmly than before, and in another much quicker fluid movement, stuck the blade into John's eye. John didn't feel it, or perhaps the pain from the cigarette was still so great that John simply didn't feel the new pain straight away. The knife was a far more effective way to destroy the eye than the cigarette had been, that was for sure. It sliced through the eyes lens and into the retina with ease, as if Sebastian was cutting himself a slice of apple rather than removing an eye. John could hear the blade squelching along with the eye, it sounded much like somebody was eating jelly with their hands, rolling it around in their fingertips and balling it up into tiny little pieces. A wet, slurping sound followed. John resisted the urge to throw up for a second time. With a twist of the blade, the eye deflated, slowly oozing from its socket and down Johns cheek. He screamed again, the pain suddenly striking him. It was much to the amusement of both Jim and Sebastian, who both let out an equally disturbing chuckle at the cry. Pulling the blade out, Sebastian gave it a sharp flick, shaking globs of eye from its blade before wiping it clean on his pants. Jim hissed at the action, screwing his face up in disgust.

"Don't do that, I only just had those dry cleaned." Sebastian rolled his eyes, wiping the rest of the eye onto John's trousers instead. John hardly cared; he was more concerned about the mounting pain in his head. Pants could be cleaned, but eyes could not be replaced.He violently twisted about, clenching his teeth in a desperate attempt not to allow another scream escape, his hands balling into fists, digging his nails into his palm to try and distract himself. He needed to control himself, to focus on something other than the pain until it subdued. John _had_ to prevent himself from crying out again. He couldn't give Jim the satisfaction.

"Better?" Sebastian pointed down at the glop on Johns legs. Jim nodded in response.

"Much. Carry on."

Sebastian placed the knife back into his pocket, prying John's eye open for a third time.

"No, God no, not again." John murmured under his breath, trying to pull away. The words weren't audible enough for the other to hear, and came as more of a prayer than a plea. Any such plea would have been ignored in any case, John knew that, but all his brain could process through the pain was a plea. He continued to try and find something, anything to distract himself, but nothing came to his mind. It had been wiped clean by the pain. All his brain would allow him to think about was the pain, was his eye and how he'd never see out of it again. Of how he'd had it burned and then cut out, of how it was now oozing down his face, half of it still in the socket and half of it slowly rolling down his cheek, to his chin where it sat momentarily before plopping down onto his trousers. He looked back up at Sebastian, considering pleading with him to stop. Could he talk the other man from going any further? John doubted it, he really did. Sebastian was even more violent than Moriarty, or perhaps it only seemed that way because Jim refused to do the work. He didn't have time to plea or negotiate though; Sebastian's finger was the tool this time. The calloused digit forcing its way into John's socket, scooping muck and nerves from the gaping hole. John cried out again, giving into the pain and shouting, thrashing his head away the instant Sebastian had fully removed his finger. He could still feel the finger buried deep within his head, that vile horrid and certainly unwanted penetration lingering in the back of his mind, engulfing any reserve that he might have been holding on to.

John was nothing more than a little toy for the two others to play with. A cheap little toy that Jim and Sebastian could do whatever they wanted to. It was worse than fighting in the army, than being shot and sent back home, even than watching good men die right in front of him. John would have rather been back on the battle field, knee deep in explosives with no way home, than strapped down in the chair, forced to play Jim's sadistic game.He felt like he was dying; only, being a doctor, he knew that it wouldn't be enough to kill him. Sebastian had been careful enough not to sever anything that might cause John to bleed out. His actions, as violent as they were, were like a surgeon's. There was no chance of something rupturing in the back of Johns head, causing him to die before the command had been given, Sebastian was being too precise for that and he was purposefully being slow, just like Moriarty had told him to be. The aim of the game was to put John though as much pain as possible and make him scream as much as possible. This wasn't a game where the end goal was to kill John, it was simply to create pain. Wiping his finger clean across John's sweater, Sebastian took a step back to admire his handy work.

"Just the one yeah? You said 'eye' I'm assuming you only meant one." He grinned, turning his back on John to face Jim. John allowed his head to drop forward, staring down, half his vision gone, to what remained of his left eye. The dull blue iris was partially smeared across him, just above his knee, staring back. It looked like a tiny soft boiled egg, staring back up at him with the most placid of expressions, the pupil torn and dilated, no longer a circle but a misshaped oval. John felt his lunch rise in his stomach, threatening to make an appearance but he fought it down. He couldn't allow himself that humiliation on top of everything else.

"I want to save the other one~ so that Sherlock has something to look into. I want him to be able to see what John went though, and his eyes, well, _eye_ will show him all sorts of hurt~" Jim was pleased with Sebastian and his work. "Do you think he'd still be able to see it if John ends up dead~?" Sebastian shrugged.

"Can't say I spend too much time gazing into the eyes of dead men." He glanced back at John, who was still groaning and staring down dully at his eye on his trousers, tears and blood mixing on his face as they met on his chin, dripping down onto his sweater vest, soaking into the fibres, staining them red. "I'm sure we'll find out soon enough~"

"Slowly now." Jim tutted. "Don't go taking the fun out of it~"

"Fingernails next." The reply was once again short. Sebastian just wanted to get back to mauling his prey. Jim gave a lazy wave of his hand allowing Sebastian to return to his work. "Do you want me to remove them all?" Sebastian's hand returned to his pocket, pulling the blade back out. "Learnt this little trick in the army." He grinned to John, waggling the knife in front of his face as he awaited command. "I'm sure you know how it works, being a doctor."

"Well, I see no need at stopping at only one or two~" Jim sighed, as if the answer to the question were an obvious one. "So I would say yes, remove all of them Moran." Sebastian nodded, crouching down by Johns right side, placing one hand firmly over the top of Johns hand, clamping it in place and selecting John's thumb, bending it back for the optimum angle, before using his left hand, blade ready, to slide the sharp metal under John's nail and slowly began to slide it from side to side, slowly slicing it away from the nail bed. John was able to grit his way through the pain. It wasn't as bad as the eye, but the highly sensitive skin underneath his nail was still enough to make his reel back in pain. Not enough to scream though. No matter how much he wanted to, John wasn't going to allow the pain to be enough to make him scream. His voice was already feeling hoarse from the screaming he had been doing, and his self-esteem couldn't take much more of Jim's childish giggles every time he did.

Trying to keep his hand as steady as possible, not wanting to cause any nerve damage, John let out deep, antagonised breaths. He continued to hold back any audible cries until the nail was fully removed, dropping to the ground and instantly being forgotten by all three in the warehouse. One down, nine to go. The procedure could only be dragged out so much, the removal of a fingernail being needed to done fairly fast in order to do it correctly. Despite Moran's desire to drag out the whole process, John was sure that the man understood the need to complete each removal in as little steps as possible. As Moran moved onto the second finger and then the next, John tried to focus on the procedure rather than the pain. Treating it as if he wasn't having his fingernails removed on a madman's whim, and rather for a medical reason helped a little, but not enough to stop John slowly falling apart. With each slow, careful removal of a nail, John felt his resolve shattering. By the time Sebastian was on the litter finger of his right hand, John was unable to suppress the scream, and he cried out again. Jim clapped, laughing and tossing his head back with several jittery stamps of his feet, crying out in glee.

"We should have done this so long ago~" Jim's eyes met Johns right eye for a moment, before John clenched it shut, trying to bite though the pain and humiliation. "Look at the way he's squirming about~! It's adorable! I love ordinary people! We should keep him alive as our own little science experiment!"

"The only part of science I liked was dissection." Sebastian laughed, shaking his head at the others exuberant suggestion. "Never was good at keeping anything alive, except you of course. Much better at killing things." He changed sides, taking to John's left hand, instantly being rewarded with another desperate cry. The ex army doctor seemed to be fast running out of stamina. That was a pity, if he passed out; Sebastian knew he would cop the blame. "Looks like your little 'science experiment' is going to need a bit of a rest after this hand. He's not cut out for your game." Jim nodded in agreement, somewhat disappointed with the lack of endurance on John's behalf.

"Well, since we know that Sherlock isn't coming to collect him any time soon, we can give him a little break. Let's call it time out shall we~? We can play with a couple of body parts at a time with a breaks in the middle. Gives us time to get something to eat too." It was all just a game to Jim. A pastime. Still, the prospect of a rest, the chance to recover at least some of his wits was music to John's ears. The longer Moriarty insisted on dragging the 'game' out, the more chance there was of somebody finding John and coming to his aid. There was always the possibility of Sherlock returning early and realising that something was wrong, or of Jim texting Sherlock, detailing what he was doing. What had Sherlock said? The fragility of genius was that it needed an audience?

Sebastian continued to remove John's fingernails until all of them were on the ground. Slice, wriggle, twist and pull. Slice, wriggle, twist and pull, followed by the occasional sob from John who continued to hold back any screams. One was enough, he wouldn't do it again. Not with the fingernails, not when they were something so small. So small and so painful, but still, John curled his toes in his boots, the pain from balling his fists together now too great. The removal procedure itself was one that John had done many times. A painful, yet constantly necessary treatment. If he managed to get out alive, he swore that he would never do one again. That must have been part of Jim's plan also. He wasn't just physically pulling John apart, he was messing with his psyche.

Folding the knife up once more and placing it back into his pocket, Sebastian stood back up and walked over to Jim's side.

"Slow enough for you? This is worse than the time you wanted me to break every single bone in that guys body. It's too slow." He grumbled, leaning on the back of Jims chair to look back at John, admiring his work.

"Don't be so impatient. It's a work of art, you should be proud of yourself." He glanced up at Sebastian, smirking before stretching backwards, slender fingers running though the snipers hair. "You just want to kill him because you're jealous of me trying to get Sherlock's attention all the time~"

"There's nothing wrong with that." Sebastian shrugged, leaning down to the touch slightly, humming in appreciation. "You're attention can be rewarding on the occasion."

"Mmm~" Jim grinned up to the other, pulling him down slightly further so that their faces were almost touching. "Only if I like you~" He purred. John realised then that Jim obviously wasn't manipulating the other man for his own gain, he actually had feelings for him. He could have laughed at the idea the Jim Moriarty, the most dangerous man in quite possibly the entire world, was able to feel anything, let alone affection. John would certainly be sure to tell Sherlock that. Jim may have been untouchable but there was a high chance that Sebastian Moran may have been a little more accessible or at least more traceable. It could be the key to finally stopping Moriarty in his tracks. Jim didn't have one weakness as he claimed, he had two, and the second could be his undoing. It gave John a surge of hope. Not so much about getting away safely, but certainly about preventing his kidnapping from happening a third time, and about preventing _anybodies_ kidnapping ever again. Sherlock probably would want more information about Moran, information that John wasn't able to gain by just watching the pair of murderous men, but it would certainly be enough to do something. It seemed that John was the one who would truly win Jims game today.

Sebastian chuckled, pulling away from Jim.

"I'll go get us something to eat yeah? I know that's all you're after. You don't hang over me like that unless you want to be fed or fucked." He glanced up with John, flashing him a deadly smile. A promise to return and continue their session.

"Am I really that dully predictable~?" Jim sighed apathetically, shaking his head at himself as Sebastian walked towards the exit.

"Only in that respect, Boss." Sebastian called back, obviously amused by Jim's distaste in the comment. "Don't worry though; everybody acts instinctively when they're after their basic needs."


	3. Chapter 3

[_Chapter three_]

Jim and Sebastian had talked for the better part of an hour before finally turning their attention back to John**. **Not that he wanted the attention back on him in any case. He was more than ok with watching them talk amongst themselves**.** They'd discussed things no doubt pertaining to Jim's 'criminal empire'. Jobs, hits, money. Jim had originally been sitting on the chair, Sebastian standing beside him, lazily listening to Jim talk about a Politian in France as the two of them enjoyed Chinese. Somewhere along the conversation, once Sebastian had finished his meal, Jim had abandoned the chair to get up and stretch his legs, acting as if watching John being pulled apart had been some sort of trial. Sebastian had lit up a smoke and taken the chair for himself. The discussion moved on to the extermination of a gang in Argentina and then to seven different clients who all wanted Jim dead. That had been interesting to listen to, John making mental notes to himself about what the clients names where. Jim had complained about the smell of the oil Sebastian was apparently using to clean his firearms back at their residence, and Sebastian had complained about Jim's insistence that he start dressing conversation migrated back to work when Jim had slung himself over Sebastian from the back of the chair, purring something into Moran's ear before listing off several locations and numbers. He had glanced up at John, giving a wink before nipping at Sebastian's ear with a devilish grin. John wasn't sure what made him feel more uncomfortable; The prospect of slowly being pulled apart limb by limb, hearing Jim's plans to kill so many people, and corrupt even more, or the idea of having to watch the consultant and sniper feel each other up in front of him.

Neither Jim nor Sebastian seemed all that worried about sharing any of the information pertaining to Jim's empire with John. It was more than likely to be a ploy on Jim's behalf, just another part of the game. It was entirely possible that Jim wanted John to go and tell Sherlock of the plans, and was only trying to lure the 'nicer' of the two geniuses into a trap, one that Sherlock would certainly fall into. Both Jim and Sherlock would drop everything at the first sign of the other. It was Jim's not so subtle way of getting information to Sherlock though John and one that Jim had no doubt used often. John was even willing to bet that Jim had passed information on to Sherlock by means of Mycroft, who delivered the information to John who of course ended up relaying the message to Sherlock. Somehow in the strange game, John realised, he had become some sort of carrier pigeon. The ridiculousness of the notion made John laugh inwardly. What happened to sending body parts in the mail and throwing rocks at peoples windows? Surely, that was a much better way of gaining somebody's attention.

Jim wanted to keep John as a pet, enthralled by the idea of having an 'ordinary' person to play with, but for the most part, Sebastian simply seemed hell bent on killing him instead. Moran wouldn't be allowed to unless Jim gave the word though. Something that John was thankful for. He didn't have a death wish, no matter how much pain he was going to be put though. The sniper knew this also, and was attempting to persuade Jim to allow him to kill John in the most discreet ways he could. Jim had told him three times in the course of their 'lunch break' that he wasn't finished playing with John and that no matter how much Sebastian wanted to break John's neck, it wasn't going to happen after such a short round of 'remove the body part from Sherlock's boyfriend.' Sebastian had then very bluntly requested permission to cut off John's dick, which much to John's relief, had been denied.

Now however, the game was back on. John already knew what was coming. Jim had detailed it right from the start. First it was his eye, then fingernails. Next item on the list were his legs. It was obvious to John now that Jim wanted to keep him alive and conscious for as long as possible, so John knew that he wasn't going to have anything amputated. His legs were going to be broken. No, broken was an understatement. John doubted he would be able to recognise them after Sebastian was finished with them. Sebastian certainly seemed keen for the assault.

"Do you mind if I shoot him though the kneecaps?" Jim raised an eyebrow, frowning slightly at the others request.

"You just want to shoot him~? That's boring. No. You cannot shoot him though the kneecaps." He replied with that ever present sing song tune that was constantly setting John on edge. It was so placid and almost kind, despite the words being laced with such dark intentions. No wonder Molly had fallen for the criminal.

"No, I want to break his legs with my boot, but if I untie him, he'll run, and desperate men run fast. I'd have to put a bullet in him and that would ruin your game, Boss." Sebastian pulled a small pistol from the back of his pants. "I need to kneecap him so that he _can't_ run." Jim considered it for a moment, before nodding.

"And here I thought you were just trying to rush your way though the game~ Do you have your silencer on you? People ignore screams, but they're not so forgiving to gunshots~" Sebastian nodded, reaching into the inside of his jacket and pulling out a smooth cylinder.

"Of course I do." He fitted the silencer to the gun, and checked the barrel for any obstructions and that it was correctly loaded before taking aim, flicking the safety off and cocking the gun with a metallic clink. "When you're ready Boss." There was a minute's pause, as Jim stared at John who was increasingly becoming restless. John didn't want to be shot again. Once was enough for a life time. Just thinking about his shoulder made it ache again, the all too familiar prang of stiffness suddenly making itself all too noticeable.

"I do love the way that you zone completely out before taking a shot~" Jim laughed, addressing Sebastian who seemed too focused to listen. "Even knowing that there is no way you could miss that shot, you're concentrating so hard~" there was another pause, before Jim nodded, unseen to Sebastian, gaving the command. "Fire~" Sebastian's hand barely moved as he took the shot, keeping the pistol pointed exactly at the target, Johns knee. John already knew what was going to happen, what the pain was like. Bullet passing though bone, and the chair behind it shattering both instantly. It was a searing pain, and it felt as if his whole knee had exploded, despite the entry and exit wounds being so screamed, much to Jims approval, and even more so to Sebastian's. Moran didn't hesitate before lining up the next shot and waiting for the command once more, which this time came instantly, Johns scream from the first bullet wound cut of half way from a second forcing its way out. Removing the silencer from the gun, and placing both parts back where they belonged, Sebastian stepped forward, kneeling down to untie John's legs. John didn't have the energy, or perhaps it was the spirit, to fight back. He wanted to, he really did. John wanted to have the will to still try and make some sort of escape, perhaps to try and grab Sebastian's gun from him and find means of escape, but he couldn't. He had lost his fight. Instead, John sat numbly on the chair simply watching. Moriarty rolled his eyes, far from pleased with the sudden lack of vigour.

"Well that's not fair John~ play along, if you don't fight it takes all the fun out of our little game~" John looked up at him dully, sweat beading down his face as Sebastian finished untying him and forced him onto the cold concrete floor immediately below him. The sniper dragged him forward slightly, whistling to himself as if he were taking out the garbage. John whimpered a humiliating cry as he felt his over sensitive fingertips drag along beside him. He tried his best to prevent his fingertips come into contact with anything, holding them at odd angles while he was dragged forward so that he was just in front of Moriarty, whimpering again though a shuddered sound was not enough for Moriarty, who growled further, crossing his arms with an impatient sigh.

"Make him scream again. I want to tape him howling so I can play a mixed tape of his begging and screaming though Sherlock's flat every single day for as long as he lives. That would be funny~" He smirked to himself, pulling out his phone. "It's a pity I don't have a recording device, I'll just leave Sherlock a voice message for now, shall I~? I know he won't answer the phone for me, he never does~ Pity really, if he did, then I'd be able to invite him to come and play~" Sebastian sniggered at the suggestion, dropping John to the ground.

"I wouldn't mind a copy of him screaming like a little bitch." Sebastian kicked John in the side, forcing him to roll over onto his back with a raspy groan**.** "It'd be like a lullaby." Jim nodded his attention on his phone rather than Sebastian.

"Well~ if you behave, I'll be sure to get you a copy~" Sebastian smiled to himself, looking down at John beneath him, raising his left foot so that it was positioned above the lower half of John's left leg.

"Come on diva; let's see how well you can sing yeah?" His foot came down with an aggressive stamp, the middle of his foot connecting solidly with John's leg, a precise and potent attack. There was the sound of something snapping slightly at the sudden forceful pressure that had been applied. John shouted out in pain, his body trying to force itself up into a sitting position as he tried to drag his leg away, but it was useless, without the ability to move his knee, John's legs simply stayed straight, pointlessly rocking from side to side. Tears welled in his eye as he clamped it shut, doing his best to try and bite though the pain. Using his elbows, John heaved himself away, towards where Jim was sitting, making a small amount of progress before Sebastian grabbed him by the leg, wrenching him back into position.

"That's not all that wise of a decision to be making." He chuckled, as he brought his boot up again, and then as quickly as the first stomp, brought it back down in the same spot. John felt and heard the bone not just break, but surely shatter. Jim gave a small giggle, as John howled out again, trying to keep any noise to a minimal as the consultant behind him recorded the message for Sherlock. The boot went up and back down for a third time, this time lower down John's leg, at his ankle. Sebastian slipped slightly as Johns ankle rolled about in protest, bending inwards at an unnatural angle and staying there, swelling instantly in his own shoe. John cried. It was all he could do, unable to suppress the sound. His voice echoed around the warehouse, bouncing off the far wall and travelling back to slap John right in the face. He sounded pathetic, and he felt pathetic. He shouted out, sobbing as he tried to drag himself away for a second time, the movement only intensifying the burning sensation in his raw fingertips, and Sebastian only pulled him back into place, making sure to place an un neccacary amount of force onto John's ankle as he dragged him backwards to his original position. It was no use, moving was not going to work. Jim closed his phone over, his laughter increasing.

"Imagine Sherlock's face when he gets that little message~ I wonder if he'll know it is John~ Of course he'll know, I wonder if he can work out where he is. Something about the way the little doctors screams echo around the warehouse might tell him~ He's clever enough to work it out~" Sebastian seemed too caught up in his own work to pay the criminal any attention, he was too busy dancing on John's left foot, making sure to break as many bones as possible. To add to the ridiculous amount of pain, John could feel his foot quickly swelling, the pressure only adding to his anguish. Once the sniper seemed satisfied that he had broken every bone in the foot, he moved up to the top of John's leg, taking a moment to find the best part to attack. There were after all, important arteries at the top of the thigh, as well as a considerable amount of protection though that of muscle and fat that would stop at least some of the attack. If something vital was severed, John would bleed out in a matter of seconds and die. Somewhere just above his bloodied and useless kneecap would be the best place to assault. Once again, no time was wasted shattering bone. Unlike before, where Sebastian had moved so slowly and carefully**,** the eradication of John's legs was done in quick, aggressive movements. The sniper was simply prepping John for the next part of the game, rather than the leg breaking being part of the game.

Once both legs were broken, no doubt to the point where neither would fully heal and John really would need his cane, if not a wheelchair, Sebastian turned his attention back to Jim. His expression emotionless.

"He's going to pass out for sure this time." Moran sounded ashamed of the fact. "I've pushed him too far; he's not going to stay awake for much longer." Jim scowled, glaring at the large man as John whimpered beside him, his eye lids drooping as everything around him became fuzzy, whirling about in a painful and nauseating pain was horrendous. Shattered bone fragments threatened to force themselves out of John's body, becoming jagged useless white lumps all over his surface, and drenching his legs in his own blood. John hoped for the sake of having a chance to heal somewhat correctly, the bones chose to remain _inside_ of his body rather than start to poke any luck, He wouldn't be moved around too much, and the bones wouldn't be given the option to move about and cause any further damage. Luck didn't really seem to be on John's side though. Maybe a miracle would ensure it instead.

"You're an idiot, you know that? You're a _Moron._" Jim snarled. "We'll just have to take another break, you can go pick up some adrenalin shots. That should keep him awake. And a recording device, I still want to tape him sobbing like a pathetic little child for Sherlock." He was obviously upset with the possibility that John might pass out and be able to lie awhile without suffering, enraged by the notion. "If he passes out and dies I'll cut off your hands." He added, standing up and walking towards the pair. "And then I'll tie you up somewhere and leave you to starve to death." Sebastian stiffened, the threat worrying him slightly as he glanced down at John, who was dangerously close to passing out, before composing himself, grunting and leaving without so much as a nod. Jim then turned his attention to John, splayed out on the ground, gasping for breath and fighting to stay awake like a fish out of water. The doctor didn't want to lose consciousness around Jim; he didn't trust him not to do something to him, or trust himself to wake up again in the event that he did pass out. He was going to fight until his very last breath, for his sake and Sherlock's.

Kneeling down beside John, Jim was sure not to get anywhere near any of the bodily fluids that had been spilt, lest he get them on his shoes or on the hem of his trousers. Although he enjoyed the show, Jim had no intention of getting as dirty as John had on the ground, or covered in blood and sweat like Sebastian was. He was wearing an expensive suit for one, and hated having to have clothing dry cleaned to remove such stains, and held a general disgust for the feeling of blood on his hands. Jim smiled, canting his head to the side and hummed to himself, admiring the handy work of his best employee.

"He's made such a mess of you, hasn't he~?" Jim let his eyes trail over John's body, clicking his tongue in appreciation. "It's beautiful~ such fine work, though he needs to work on his ability to keep that temper of his in check, he really doesn't like you, John." John groaned in response. It was supposed to have been a 'sod off' but he couldn't formulate words, not this close to passing out. He instead concentrated on staying awake. "Of course," Jim continued, shaking his head, almost as if he were addressing a five year old. "If you pass out on me, I'm going to have to teach Tiger a lesson; I can't have him breaking my toys like that. It's a nuisance waiting for them to wake back up." Jim stood back up, letting out a deep sigh. "He'll learn one of these days." John groaned again, this time not even bothering to try and say anything legible, before realising that he could no longer fight off his body's natural instinct to shut down, slipping out of consciousness.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry~ I'm not all that creative when it comes to playing with a person's legs in a way that won't cause bloodloss and death~_


	4. Chapter 4

[_Chapter four_]

When John woke up, he realised was chained and forced to stand upright. His feet were only just touching the ground. Enough to force pressure onto his legs, sending jolts on pain up them, but not enough to let him support himself amply so that his arms ached as they strained against his body weight, fastened above his head. John could also feel his heart beating much faster than it should have. The adrenalin shots no doubt, Jim's own special way of keeping John awake and all too aware of his surroundings. There was one benefit though, the adrenalin was helping with some of the pain, though it was equally as possible that John was simply building a resistance to the various pain that the injuries were causing him. His body was adapting to survive, which with any luck he would. His eye had stopped burning so much, now at a dull thumping ache in time with his heart, and his fingers had lost most of their blood supply, numbing them to the point where he couldn't feel them at all let alone any pain. It was a large improvement from what he had been experiencing before he had passed out, but his broken legs were certainly making up for the lost pain elsewhere. They spasmed slightly as John tried to find the best way to stand without causing himself pain, shifting from left to right, testing to see if there were any positions that he could stand in where he was resting on the least amount of broken bones, or so that the weight of his fatigued body was distributed somewhat evenly, rather than putting all the pressure on one spot. His legs were swelling in various areas, now tight against his trouser. That spelled a very high chance of blood clots and permanent damage. He was losing circulation everywhere. That was bad; his heart was already working overtime with the high amounts of adrenalin shooting though his veins. At least it gave him an edge and kept him sharp enough to try and make reason of what was going on.

In front of John, a highly disgruntled Sebastian was nursing a bloodied jaw, his right eye bulging considerably. It seemed that Jim wasn't delivering an empty threat when he had said that he was going to have to teach the man a lesson. Jim Moriarty may not have liked to get his hands dirty, but it was evident that he certainly knew how to. It seemed the consultant wasn't all talk. It made sense, there was a time that he would have had to do all the work himself, when he couldn't afford to employee a whole army of criminals, and simply didn't have the influential pull to do so. There was a black duffle bag at Sebastian's feet, no doubt with more 'goodies' to try out on John.

Jim, who still seemed intensely aggravated, was sitting back down in his chair, tapping his foot in a quick rhythm, making eye contact with the wall rather than John or Sebastian. Every so often he would dig his nails into his clothed kneecap, hissing to himself and muttering under his breath. John let out an odd chortle, the sight of the small Irishman man fuming over the fact that John had passed out brining some sort of pleasure to him. It wasn't the smartest of moves to laugh at the most dangerous man in London, but John no longer cared. He'd been though too much for one day for him to care, anything John found funny, he was going to laugh at. Served the consultant right in any case. Jim's head snapped around to look at John, sneering before crossing his arms and silencing John's laughter.

"Good. You're awake." The sing song tune from before was gone, replaced by a sickening bitterness. There was no mention of Jim's little game, or any other description for what was going on, Jim was dead serious. His game seemed to be over, finished when John had passed out.

"Moran, go and cut that stupid sweater off him. His shirt too." Moran complied silently, removing his hand from his jaw and walking over, pulling the pocket knife out from his jacket and moving quickly to do as he was told. It seemed he knew all too well that Jim was done screwing around. He also seemed to know all too well what kind of mood Jim was in. There was no jesting little comment, no laugh, no smile, it was just total compliance, the type he had when given a paying job. John tensed as he felt the fabric cut away in easy movements, Sebastian taking his time to make sure that he didn't accidently cut John in anyway, dumping the clothing on the ground.

"His shoulder," Jim grumbled. "Theleft one. Where he got shot." John's heart sank. "It's nice and sensitive no doubt. I want you to reopen that little wound of his, you've got the cattle prod I told you to get don't you? We'll electrify him from the inside out, turn his arm into a chicken wing." Sebastian once again, silently did as he was told, moving to stand behind John, running his hand over the misshaped scar on his shoulder. John lurched instinctively away from the touch, his whole body tensing as he realised that the sudden movement did nothing for his broken legs, grunting but managing to stop himself from crying out. There was a chuckle, one low enough so that Jim wouldn't hear, from Sebastian as John was pulled back into place, a firm warm hand now holding him still.

"Don't worry solider, soon enough you won't be able to feel anything." Moran was sure to keep his voice low enough so that Jim once again wouldn't hear. John was given no time to even consider what the statement from the gruff man behind could mean, Moran's knife digging into him for the second time, removing even more of John without the slightest of hesitations. With mouth clamped shut, John let out an agonised cry, once again trying to move away from the pain, and once again finding that he only placed himself in more pain, his legs flailing aimlessly behind him in uncontrolled spasms. He swung about like a marionette puppet, completely at the mercy of his completely deranged puppet master and his completely deranged psychopathic master. Eyes shut as tightly as his mouth, John couldn't help but notice that apart from his own sounds, there were no others. Both men were silent. Jim wasn't laughing or clapping or making any sort of verbal indication that he was enjoying the show. He forced himself to open his eye and see what was going on, as if maybe he'd wake up and everything would be one terrible, messed up dream and that Sherlock had simply slipped something into his tea for one of his Godforsaken experiments. He wasn't dreaming though, or if he was, it wasn't time to wake up yet. Jim was still there, silently watching, his expression lifeless, as if he were just a corpses positioned in the chair rather than a living breathing man. Nothing. He was obviously not even paying attention to the torture in front of him, switched off like any other person would when the ads came on between their TV program segments. In his lap was a recording device, red light silently flashing away, recording the every noise that John made. He had to fight back making anything substantial, just to spite Jim and Sebastian, though it was going to be difficult, John was losing what little reserve he had gained back from passing out and fast. It was almost over for him. He was reaching his end. Sebastian, still behind him, obviously wasn't making any noise on fear of being punished a second time. That was understandable, but for Jim to be quiet. It seemed wrong, and it could only spell trouble.

John could feel fresh blood trailing down his back, it coming to a slow stop at the hem of his trousers, slowly soaking through the layers and ever so carefully pooling out down his backside in sticky warm globs. He could also feel Sebastian's hot breath far too close for comfort, as if the man was closely addressing the now open wound in his shoulder. Without so much as a whisper, Sebastian appeared in front of John briefly, retrieving a cattle prod from the bag beside Jim, tossing it about in his hand experimentally. Walking back, Sebastian charged the prod, smirking to himself but never making eye contact with John, and certainly never letting Jim see the grin, before he was behind him again. Surely this was going to kill him. The current would try and find the fastest way to the ground, and that path just so happened to go straight past John's heart. Death by electrocution. Thousands of volts squeezing at his heart like a hand, forcing the life slowly out of him and roasting him inside out. That was what Sebastian must have meant by him not being 'able to feel anything.' This was the end. This was the end and Jim Moriarty wasn't saying a thing, he was just sitting there, not even paying attention. Rather, the man was texting, turned slightly to the side with that bored empty expression still on his face. The consultant had lost interest in the whole matter and unfortunately that meant the end of John's life. No daring escape, no chance to break free, not even a Sherlock to burst in at the last moment and stop the criminal overlord and his faithful pet. Death by electrocution, like a criminal on death row. Thousands of thoughts flew though Johns head in a flurry. He thought of his sister Harry, whose last memory of him would now be a massive fight over her drinking, and how he would never have the chance to say sorry for fighting with her, or help her get the help she needed. How he'd never be able to spend Christmas with her, or her birthday, or meet any of her girlfriends and finally introduce Sherlock formally to her. He thought of Lestrade, who had become a good friend in such a short time. Who seemed to be one of the only other people who could tolerate, and even more importantly, appreciate what Sherlock could do and how much he helped in cases. He thought about 221B and the total mess that Sherlock always left it in and how much Mrs. Hudson hated it, but still allowed John and Sherlock live in the flat, even with the numerous bullet holes that Sherlock had littered the flat with. He thought about Sherlock...

There was no time to dwell on Sherlock, to think of final goodbyes that would never be said or heard. In the seconds that Johns mind had lingered on the idea, the cattle prod had been very sharply pushed into the wound on his shoulder. John wasn't able to shout this time. Instead his mouth simply opened and closed as his body violently shook about, swinging about on the chains. As fast as the prod had made contact, it was gone. Then John could wail. A loud, antagonised howl of pain, mixed with what may have been a plea for Moran to stop, and Sherlock's name all in one. A second past and then once again the metal hit him sending volts hurtling though his body. This time a cry did come out, louder than the first, John's whole body shaking, the smell of burning flesh filling the air, making John wretch and Jim screw up his nose. There was another seconds pause, and then the prod was back inside, John could no longer feel his arm, and his heart was beating at such an erratic irregular beat that he was surprised it was still in his chest. Sebastian pulled back once more, this time pausing for longer, giving John a moment to catch his breath before pushing it back in, holding it for longer. Jim glanced up, a small smile flicking onto his face. He seemed almost content. The recording device was no longer blinking.

"That will do~" the consultant's mood seemed to have lifted once again. That had to be something; though John wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. One thing he did know for sure was that he wasn't dead. He had lived though his own electrocution. Barely, but he had lived. If that wasn't an achievement to brag about, nothing was.

"My turn now~" Jim finally turned his attention away from his phone, his tone one that of a bored five year old. "Our little solider should be ready for the real interrogation now." John didn't understand. Interrogation? What happened to the whole thing being a giant game to subside Jim's boredom? John didn't have any information Jim wanted, Jim _didn't _need John to get any information that he wanted. He could gain any information he wanted with a quick phone call on his phone. Apart from that, Jim had made it obvious at the start of the whole ordeal that the whole setup was just a game to curb his boredom. He wouldn't have lied. If there was one thing about Jim, it was that he seemed to enjoy being brutally honest. He used it as a scare tactic.

"Take him down and get the poor man a chair will you Colonel?" Colonel? That made even less sense. Why was Jim suddenly addressing Moran was formally? What was he playing at? It had to be part of Moriarty's game. It seemed it wasn't over, but every body part that Jim had listed had now been dealt with. Eye, fingernails, legs, shoulder. They had all been done. Sebastian did as he was told, moving to the side and releasing the pin that was holding the chains and John up, letting both fall harshly to the ground. Jim smiled, standing up as Sebastian dragged John back to the bolted down chair, which had been behind him. John was almost glad that he hadn't been moved to the other side of the warehouse just to be chained back. It was hard enough to hold back any of the louder sounds he wanted to make as he was dragged only a short distance to the chair, let alone if it had have been the length of the warehouse. Dragging his own chair back over, Jim positioned it about a meter away from Johns, clicking his fingers on holding out his right hand. A moment later, Sebastian placed a manila folder in it, standing at attention by Jim's side.

"Now~" Jim began, opening the file up, flicking though it experimentally. "My name is James Moriarty, you can call me Jim. You're _Captain_ John Watson, is that correct?"

"I- was..." John forced the words out, far too confused and in so much pain, that the words felt almost like he was forcing out glass shards from his mouth. He didn't want to talk about the war, not when he was in so much pain and when his shoulder was screaming at him from behind. There were too many demons in that part of his mind that he had no desire to revisit, and what was Jim playing at, introducing himself? That didn't make sense, though nothing did with that man

"You _are_." Jim corrected. "We captured you not too long ago; you were quite daft to fall into our trap."

"You picked me off the bloody street!" John protested.

"We captured you after you attempted to come to the aid of what you suspected to be a fallen comrade." Jim corrected him once again. "We weren't after a doctor, but you're still a solider none the less, you still hold the valuable information we're after."

"Valuable – what? You had him collect me off the sidewalk because you were bored!" John growled, pointing a bloodless finger at Sebastian, instantly regretting the movement, realising how much movement he had lost in the now almost useless arm.

"ColonelMoran was the solider which set the trap and brought you into our custody on my orders, yes." Jim nodded, completely ignoring John's statement, rewording it to fit his own theory "You resisted quite a bit, punching him in the jaw like that, he received a nasty black eye too. We weren't expecting so much vigour from medical personal. You British sure have a hell of a lot of fight."

Something was terribly wrong. Mind._ Mind that order. _That's what Jim had said at the start of it all. John had just gotten it wrong. He hadn't said 'mind that order.' He had said 'Mind. _That order._ Jim was attempting to psychology injure, and with a mind like his, John had no doubt that eventually Jim would succeed. He just had to fight it and remember the facts. He was in a warehouse somewhere in London. He hadn't been in the war for a long time now. He had been kidnapped off the street and forced to play along with Jim's game. That was the truth. That was what he had to remember.

"It's very simple really, you give us the information, and we'll stop with the interrogation. I'd lie and say that we are going to let you go, but you're smart enough to know that's not going to happen. We're in a war after all, not in parliament."

"We're in a warehouse!"

"Yes, wonderful observation Captain Watson. We are in a warehouse, buried far into what you'd call 'enemy territory.' Not going to give you the exact location~"

"We're in _London!_"

"I doubt that, since London is in England and we're in Afghanistan."

"We bloody well are not! Jesus Christ!" John winced, accidently leaning too far forward and placing pressure on his used to be feet. What had they done to him? All this for what? No, no, it was all part of Jim's game. Jim, this man in front of him. What did he want? He was in Afghanistan? No, London?

"Come now Captain, colonel Moran didn't hit you that hard, and this place certainly doesn't look like London does it? For one, it's far too hot." Jim laughed. John had to admit, it was disgustingly hot. No, no it couldn't be. But it was. No. He was in London, England. "British soldiers captured several Afghan troupes last Thursday. Where are they being held?"

"How should I know?!"

"Captain, if you don't tell us, I'm afraid that not only will you die, but so will so many more of the men you fought so hard to save." There were good men's lives at stake, but John had a duty, he had sworn an oath, just like every other man fighting out on the field. He was fighting for his country, and he was willing to die for it.

"I doubt that, you'd be risking killing your own, wait, wait _no. London John,_" John muttered to himself, trying to remain on top of everything, slowly losing the battle between the current reality and memory. Slowly losing the battle..._ "_Why are you involved in this? You're Irish; shouldn't you be on _our _side?" Jim's smile grew to a terrifying smirk.

"I work for the highest bidder. You're side didn't even put in a bid. Now~ where are those Afghan troupes, solider?"

"The highest bidder? Well sod you then, I'm not giving you any information. I'm no traitor." John growled defiantly. He wasn't going to give into some hired gun, or whatever the hell Jim was.

"You're sentencing many men to their deaths. What about their families? Their children who will never get to see them again?" Jim continued to flick though the folder in his hands. "And what about your sister? Harry is it?"

"Shutup! Shutup! Don't bring- no, no, stop messing with my head Moriarty! We're not in the war, we're in a warehouse in-"

"Afghanistan, I am well aware."

"No! In London!"

"It's what? 39 degrees outside right now? It's almost too hot to fight, but they are still at it, can't you hear the guns?" Jim was right, the gunfire outside was distant, but ever present. It had been for three days now. Hadn't it? Yes, there had been a surge, no, that didn't sound right... the war was getting worse, that was for sure. It was always getting worse, it never stopped, never left him.

"How far away are they? Where are you holding me?" John demanded. "tell me now."

"That's better~ You took quite the beating, your mind is all over the place. Seemed you'd almost forgotten where you where, silly boy~ Now tell me, those soldiers that you have taken, where are they~?"

"I'm not telling a traitor like you! I already said that!"

"I'm not as traitor, I never pledged my allegiance to anybody~ In any case, giving up the location of a couple of soldiers to save the lives of thousands shouldn't be that hard of a decision to make. Just tell me where they are and this can all stop."

"I'm not going to tell you, so you might as well just kill me." A bluff, John didn't want to die, not hundreds of miles away from home, in some rusty warehouse in the middle of a warzone, but sometimes a bluff needed to be played. He glanced to the so far silent colonel. The man stood emotionless, fixed into place. Too much time in the war, John could tell. It was men like Moran who went back haunted by the war and turned to violence elsewhere. Not a fun place to be. If it wasn't for the fact that Moran was technically his enemy in this case, and was holding him against his will, John might have felt sorry for him. In fact, he did feel sorry for him. The man would be broken forever. All soldiers were to some extent. Even John.

"I could have that done~" Jim sighed, "But that would be very counterproductive, I don't want to do that just yet."

"Well asking me about the soldiers is just as 'counterproductive' because I don't know about them. You've wasted all this time asking about them, beating the snot out of me hoping to get information, when you're not going to get it." John smirked, if he was going to be killed by the enemy, he was sure as hell going to piss them off as much as he could. Go out with style, why not?

"Oh, I'm sure somewhere in your mind you could fabricate a couple of Afghan troupes Johnny boy~ just for me~" Jim cooed. Fabricate? What was Jim playing at? Now was he telling John to just make information up? Perhaps Jim needed information to give back to whoever he was working for, but then why not lie? Or why not just find another soldier who did have the information. As John went to reply, he was cut off by Jim's phone buzzing in his pocket. It baffled John as to why he'd carry something like that into a battlefield, it was far from safe, let alone getting reception should have been impossible. Rolling his eyes, Jim muttered an apology, pulling it out and flicking it open.

"What? I'm busy this better be important." He muttered an apology to John, rising from his seat to take the call. "Yes. I was aware that they knew about the shipment, why do you think I'm letting it go ahead? You people are stupider than I give you credit for. Yes. _Yes. _That is what I told you, isn't it? No. Certainly not. Only if you want to come home to your wife in a body bag. Just get it done or I'll have your ears cut off and nailed into your cheekbones." Flipping the phone back, Jim shook his head, muttering under his breath before turning back to walk over to John and Sebastian, the phone sliding back into his pocket.

"The bone shipment again? Those blokes need a good kick up the ass." Moran grunted, stepping to the side to let Jim sit back down. Jim nodded, choosing to instead stand, leaning on the back of the chair and ignoring Sebastian's movement completely, seemingly forgetting about John. The bone shipment, John would have to remember that one, the higher ups might be able to use the information, providing he got out that was. If the enemy was moving something, or using something as a decoy as it seemed, that was certainly valuable information. It seemed that whoever Jim was, he wasn't as clever as he was making out to be.

"I was rather hoping it would be Sherlock calling. Oh well~ I'm finished playing 'Cowboys and Indians' with him," Sherlock. Who was Sherlock, that name sounded familiar. John racked his brain trying to remember. Was it a solider? Maybe an informant of some sort. A deserter? That was possible, or as cliché as it sounded, perhaps some sort of double agent. John closed his eyes, repeating the name over and over again. Sherlock... He knew a Sherlock. John knew he knew one. It wasn't a common name, not one he'd forget.

It dawned on him suddenly. Sherlock wasn't part of the war. Sherlock was part of London, part of his life after the war. Sherlock was the man he lived with at 221B, after the war. _After._ John was in a warehouse in London, after being taken by Jim Moriarty and Sebastian Moran to provide Jim with a sick form of entertainment...

"What now then, Boss?"

"Off with his head~"

* * *

_A/N: Sorry about the wait, got sick, had a minor feels breakdown, had to recover. _


	5. Chapter 5

[_chapter five_]

"Off with his head~"

This time John did throw up, from fear. From fear and from everything that he had experienced in the last seven hours. Losing an eye, losing all of his fingernails. Electrocution. More broken bones than he could point his cane at... His breakfast from the morning came up in heaves, spluttering out in front of him, splashing on the concrete and dribbling down his half exposed body. There was a mildly amused sound from Jim, who, despite being obviously disgusted by the sight, found it highly comical.

"Please..." John no longer cared about seeming pathetic, about not giving in to James Moriarty's sick desires. He did not want to die. Least of all though execution. "_Please, _don't." The plea was directed at both Jim and Sebastian. If one of them felt even slightly compelled to listen to him, it might help him live. Jim snorted, dashing all hopes of some kind of sudden empathy.

"Please don't~? If I stopped a murder every time somebody asked me politely, I would have killed only a handful of people. Just accept your fate John, everybody dies, some just get to earlier than others."He covered his nose with the back of his hand, making a point not to look at John's sick on the ground, almost retching at the smell of it alone. "For example, you're going to die before Sherlock does, and he's going to die before I do~ It's the way the world works." John shook his head, his whole body shaking, a cold sweat beading down his temple. He was really going to be killed, executed and butchered like some sort of animal.

"Besides~ I did tell Tiger that if Sherlock didn't show up, he was allowed to cut your head off and stick it in the fridge of 221B~ Get the hacksaw, pet~"

John began to cry.

It was all he could do. There was no holding back on the screams, or showing Jim that he couldn't be broken, John _was _broken. He had no fight left, he barely even had a functioning body left that was worth fighting for. Tears streamed down his face, snot dripped from his nose, his whole body burned, and Jim seemed to love every single moment of it.

Sebastian, silently complied with Jims command opened the duffle bag; taking the recording device and placing it back in, before pulling out a small and slightly blunt hacksaw. The man's face was emotionless, as he focused only on the tool in his hand, as if it were an extension of his own arm, a predatory flash in his eyes for a moment before returning to a neutral expression. Jim was smiling and Sebastian seemed indifferent about it. What a pair, what a messed up, dangerous pair the two made. They kidnapped people and tortured them to death while flirting at each other shamelessly like horny teenagers. It was wrong. It was so wrong. John felt the small spark of hope return to him, the expression on his soon to be executioner giving him a small glimmer of strange hope that he may get out. Perhaps Sebastian didn't actually want to cut John's head off. Maybe Moran had his limits, things he wasn't willing to do. It was one thing to slowly pull a man apart, but to take a life, and to take a life so violently, that was different. Just maybe there was a way out.

"You are allowed to smile, Tiger~" Jim laughed, shaking his head at the taller man, his nose still covered. "You don't have to be so depressing. You're not still upset about your jaw are you~? I did say that there were consequences for letting him pass out." Sebastian let out a snort, shaking his head.

"You near broke my jaw, Boss. I've got a right to be mad." John's heart sank once more. Sebastian wasn't emotionless because he was having second thoughts, he was emotionless because he was pissed off and attempting to keep his temper in check. If Jim continued to provoke him however, that temper was going to burst, and John was going to be the one who got it. Sebastian obviously wasn't going to attack Jim; his loyalty was too strong for that. The man's only redeeming feature. It was almost a pity. Sebastian was loyal until the end, but to the wrong man. If he had have been a better man, John might have been able to try and get him to be loyal with his morals, but he doubted that Sebastian had even ever heard the word morals, let alone practiced them.

"You let him pass out, I had a right to try and break your jaw." Jim shrugged in reply to Sebastian. "Now stop pretending that you don't want to do this and smile, it takes all the fun out of it if you're as hysterical as John here~" Sebastian rolled his eyes, laughter escaping his lips.

"You're right, I'm not that mad. A sore jaw is a pretty fucking good trade for getting to saw off his head in any case."

"That's better~ I knew you were looking forward to it~ you're all about the kill, can't appreciate the rest of it~"

"I appreciate the hunt, Kitten; I just don't see the point in playing with my food like you."

"Because you're boring~"

"Oh? Maybe I won't cut off his head then, since I'm boring. Maybe I'll make you do it."

"Don't be stupid, you know I don't like to get my hands dirty."

"Will you two _stop it!?_" John hissed, butting into the conversation. He couldn't take it anymore, the games, the waiting, the fear. He just wanted it to be over. He didn't want to have to think on it anymore, didn't want to hear them flirting at each other, they could do that later, after he was... John stopped himself from thinking about it. He just wanted it to be over. There was no way out, so why fight it? Why prolong it? There was no way he could make an escape, his body was in too many pieces to do that, John would have to drag himself away from the warehouse, and Sebastian would easily be able to stop him from doing that. The only way that John would be able to leave would be if Jim and Sebastian both suddenly dropped dead. If only John had some sort of weapon, which he didn't.

"Oh~ you've finished begging?" Jim laughed, "well then, I suppose it's on with the show~"

John could attempt to grab Sebastian's gun from him, the offending object still presumably tucked into the back of his pants. The spark of hope returned. He wouldn't have much of an opportunity to do so, there would only be one chance to go for the gun. If John didn't manage to get it the first time, there wouldn't be a second. Sebastian would ensure that John had no chance of getting the weapon for him. He now wished that he hadn't interrupted the other two men's banter. It could have bought him some time, and the perfect chance to get the gun. Still, it was possible to still get the gun from Sebastian; he'd just have to be quick and not hesitate in the slightest. Get the gun, shoot Sebastian as he posed the greater threat and then shoot Jim. Then it was only a matter of dragging himself out of the warehouse and calling for help.

As Sebastian walked over to John's side, John took a deep breath. All three men were carefully waiting for the right moment. Jim to give the command, Sebastian to force John into a better position for decapitation and John for the opportunity to grab the gun. Sebastian being preoccupied by trying to find the best location worked to John's advantage. The man's attention was on his neck, rather than his hands. Jim's attention was everywhere but that was something that couldn't be avoided. John would just have to try and work in Jim's blind spot. Sebastian moved to circle John, all the while loosely swinging the saw about. As soon as he stepped in front of him, just to the right being careful not to step in the vomit John had previously expelled, John went for the grab. His right hand darted out, wrapping around Sebastian and to the back of his pants, diving under the man's jacket and shirt. Freedom at last, and it only cost the lives of two madmen. Only, there was no gun.

No gun. No escape.

John Watson really was a dead man.

He wouldn't get to brag about living though electrocution, and have Sherlock ask him all sorts of questions about what happened, inappropriately probing him for information at all the wrong times. He wouldn't be able to give Sherlock all the information on important jobs that Jim and Sebastian had discussed over 'lunch'. He wouldn't even get to complain at Sherlock for the mess in the kitchen or that fact that the tea in the flat now tasted of sulphur. He wouldn't get to see Sherlock again.

Sherlock, who had turned John's world upside down and inside out and yet, had somehow managed to make everything absolutely ok. Sherlock, who demanded John's attention whenever he wasn't at home and who ignored him when he was. Sherlock who had managed to restore purpose into John's life and stop him from sinking into a depression that only had one exit. Sherlock who had been the best friend and greatest man John had ever known. John would never be able to tell him what he had meant. John would never get any of that again. He'd lose Sherlock, he'd be alone again. Alone and somewhat dead.

"Trying to get a free feel Doctor~?" Jim laughed, leaning to the side to glare dangerously at John who was still floundering about on Sebastian's back. "He does have a superb arse, doesn't he~?" John removed his hand slowly, staring at Jim in horror, and then up at Sebastian.

"The Boss said you might try something like that," Sebastian chuckled. "So I moved it, put it back in the bag." He turned his back to John to address Jim. "I reckon we just go from the back. Any way we go it's just gonna spray blood everywhere."

"Butcher him up any way you'd like, Tiger~ I'm bored of this game, I want to start another~ I was thinking maybe strip poker~" Jim replied, grinning wickedly. "Winner gets to top~"

"I'm the best at poker, Kitten; sure you want to play with those odds?" Sebastian smirked back, just as wickedly.

"The higher the stakes, the better I play~" Sebastian nodded, walking to stand behind John, laughing to himself.

"I'm gonna enjoy tonight then~ It's better when you fight. The saw is a bit blunt, He's going to scream a hell of a lot until something important is cut, are you sure that won't draw any attention to us?"

"Not a chance, He's been squealing like a pig on and off for just over seven hours now, if anybody can hear him, they certainly don't care." Back to business it seemed. John closed his eyes. Sebastian roughly pushed John's head down, exposing his neck.

"Right then," The saw was placed on the back of John's neck. "Any final words Doctor?" John mustered what little courage was still buried somewhere deep inside of him, opening his eyes back up and glancing from his held position up at Jim.

"Yes actually. Fuc-"

"Oops. Hand slipped."

[...]

As instructed, John's head was placed in the fridge of 221B Baker Street, preserved somewhat by the cold for Sherlock to find when he finally returned from his trip abroad. Sebastian was sure not to leave behind physical evidence, nobody paying him any attention as he entered or exited the building, leaving Jim's present as well as a small calling card in John's mouth.

'_Come and play Sherlock~ your move. _

_Don't be boring, there's a prize for the best player~_

–_JM'_

**END**

* * *

_A/N: Hope you enjoyed our little game~_


End file.
